Brilliancy
by skaia7
Summary: Companion piece to A Game of Chess by Altariel. Read that first. In her story, Faramir is warfettered: their marriage suffers. Now, after their reunion, Eowyn cares for an ill Faramir after a rough Council session. Fluff and love and such...
1. Chapter 1

Brilliancy – part 1

By skaia7

_These characters belong to Tolkien. I am taking them out of the box to play with, and promise to put them back exactly as I found them when I'm finished. I make nothing from this endeavor._

_This story is a companion piece to "A Game of Chess" by Altariel. Read that first._

_The term "brilliancy" in chess means "a game containing a very deep strategic idea, a beautiful combination." I think this fits the story of Eowyn and Faramir. _

_Post traumatic stress disorder has been called other things in the past: shell shocked during World War I, battle fatigue in World War II, and "operation exhaustion" during the Korean War. In Altariel's story, she terms it "war-fettered." The disorder is characterized by severe flashbacks, recurring nightmares, panic and depression, emotional numbness and sometimes-violent behavior. To learn more, visit https/www2.arims.army.mil/rmdaxml/research/PTSD.asp_

xxxx

A discreet cough caused me to lift my head from where Elboron and Morwen were playing with their wooden horses. The almost three and two year old children were spread out on furs, enjoying the warm crackle of the fire during the peaceful afternoon. Their dark heads did not lift with mine, but I gazed at the servant, a young Gondorian girl of no more than fifteen, as she blushed and dropped her eyes.

"Begging your pardon, my lady, but… the Lord Steward returns."

A stone dropped in my stomach, knowing what this must mean. It was far too early in the day, the pale winter sunlight streaming through the window telling me it was not half past the afternoon.

I rose as gracefully as my misgivings would allow. "Mira, please mind the children," I ordered quietly, and the girl bobbed in a brief curtsy of obedience as I brushed swiftly past her.

I slid speedily through the passageway, my mind racing with the necessary tasks. First on the list was to head to the kitchen for a handful of herbs, and then up the staircase that led to our chambers, tension creating furrows in my brow.

It was not yet a year since I had learned of Faramir's illness, and but six months since we had reconciled. In that time I had witnessed but two full-scale attacks that brought him home early from Council to the newly-completed Steward's House in Minas Tirith. This past summer in Emyn Arnen, where the beauty of the forest and the love of our family were finally bringing his troubled soul solace and peace, he experienced only weariness and headaches, and those but seldom. However, the fall and winter months here in Minas Tirith seemed to call forth the worst of his demons. The Council members were insufferable, the tension with the Haradrim mounting, and a solution not easily within our grasp.

Faramir had not come home last night, still with the Council in their endless post-war meetings, but I had not expected him until nearly suppertime, if not after. I sighed heavily, knowing I should have expected this when he did not come home. It has happened before that he would sleep in his office if the meetings ended late and were to begin early, but my intuition told me last night's meeting had probably not yet ceased… Exhaustion was chief among the causes for my husband's attacks.

I was not permitted to attend the Council meetings; apparently the women of Gondor were barred from certain rooms in the White Tower, the Council Hall chief among them, and neither Estel nor his Steward could risk alienating the nobles in this troubled time. This had caused the Queen and I both much grief, but we had made our peace with it, for now. Instead, Faramir had taught me much of his administrative tasks, and allowed me to handle many affairs from home while he attended the Council. I was quite pleased with this: it allowed me to be near the children while at the same time serving alongside my husband in affairs of state. Each evening, we discussed what had transpired during the day, our new alliance bringing us closer than I had ever dreamed husband and wife could be.

However, both my husband and I were taking as great a care with his health as we could, circumstances allowing. As the days of winter grew shorter, darker, I sensed the shadow stealing upon him again. The previous winters had been terrible for him, made all the worse by our quarrels and then my absence, and this winter looked as if it would also prove a great trial. I was learning – both by trial and error and by discreet inquiries of the healers - how to handle his attacks, and striving daily to mend the rift that we had created through misunderstanding and silence.

As I rounded a corner on the stairs, I saw him ahead of me, shoulders hunched, and leaning heavily on the iron railing with white-knuckled grip. I felt dread in the pit of my stomach, wondering how severe this bout would be, and if he would ever find true and lasting peace.

"Faramir," I called softly, wishing to alert him to my presence so as not to startle him. He paused.

I drew alongside him, wrapping one arm around his back and the other clasping his elbow, gently easing some of his weight onto myself. In the shadows, I could see his face was as white as his linen shirt, sweat beading on his brow, and deep lines of pain carved around his eyes. His eyes were wide, dark, and unseeing. It was easy to tell that he was struggling to retain his composure, years of training at Denethor's knee proving hard to move past. He issued a small sigh at my touch, and allowed me to support his tense body as we crossed the threshold to our bedchamber.

Once inside, I helped to ease him onto the edge of our bed, his arms resting on his knees and his dark head dropping down with a subdued groan. I moved first to pull the velvet curtains against the bright afternoon sun, knowing that light could worsen the headache. After a moment, my eyes adjusted to the mere firelight, and then I moved quickly but noiselessly to the hearth, where hot water and a tray of cups, bowls, and towels were standing ready. Whether it be for tea, a warm bath, or just such an emergency as this, I had instructed all the servants to keep a kettle of warm water always by our hearth, and was thankful they had been diligent in this task. I took a handful of herbs from my pocket, and one of the wooden cups, setting it on the stone floor as softly as I could. Another thing that provoked my husband's headaches was noise, and so I strove to move soundlessly.

I placed some healing herbs in the cup – willow bark, chamomile, peppermint - and left it by the fire to steep. Taking a wooden bowl, I then crushed some mint with my thumb before pouring in hot water, and set that bowl by the window to cool. Placing two other bowls before me, I brought out athelas from the king's own garden, bruising it gently before pouring hot water over this, as well. At once, a light clean fragrance began to fill the room, and I carefully carried each steaming bowl to rest on either side of our bed. Only then did I turn to my poor husband.

Faramir had not spoken since I had sat him down, and now had begun to tremble, his hands tucked under his arms as if for warmth. Pain stabbed my heart; this would not be a mild attack, and I wondered to myself what had brought it about. I knew if I asked he would tell me, both of us having vowed not to keep anything from each other.

But now was not the time to ask.

I knelt in front of him, first tenderly removing his boots, and then unlacing his tunic. A pang of pity stabbed me through when he flinched as I tugged his arms toward me in order to ease the black velvet off his shoulders, his breath coming in unsteady pants.

"Easy, my love," I murmured softly in the silence, ceasing my ministrations long enough to tenderly smooth his sweaty hair from his pale face, and caress his cheek. "Easy."

He leaned into my touch, anxious it seemed for any relief from the stabbing pains in his skull, from the tide of violent images that threatened to storm his weary mind. My hands felt cool on his fiery skin. I tossed his tunic aside, and then loosened the ties on his breeches, but did not remove them. They were soft, and my husband would appreciate their warmth.

Returning to the fire, I fetched the tea, blowing on it gently to ensure it was not too hot. I knelt in front of his shuddering form and folded his hands around the cup. They shook so badly that I had to help him guide the cup to his lips, and urged him to drain the healing mixture. When it was gone, I set the cup to the side, hesitating before making the next move.

I gazed at him in the dark, hearing his wheezing gasps for breath, seeing the tears that seeped from his closed eyes and made silent tracks on his cheek. He was cursing himself for his weakness, as he had done both of the previous times I had seen him thus. The knowledge that my kind, valiant husband had suffered so much, and continued to suffer, brought tears to my own eyes. I murmured soft words of love in the darkness (of precisely what, I do not know) and gently - slowly - folded my arms about him.

I had learned to be very cautious of his fragile state. In the first episode I witnessed, I had moved too swiftly to offer an embrace, and had inadvertently caused him to panic, his waking nightmare turning my arms into orc enemies bent on taking him down. I had released him quickly at his fearful cry, narrowly missing his wild swing.

This time, however, as my voice reassured him of his safety, of my love, and my arms moved slowly enough for his broken mind to track their progress, I found his head dropping to my shoulder, and I drew him into a warm embrace. A choked sob broke from the man in my arms, and I was forced to squeeze my eyes shut as the sound knifed through me.

_How can he bear it?_ I wondered. _How can he bear to relive the retreat over and again? I could not imagine hearing the scream of the witch-king repeated – as piercing and as real as the first time – for the rest of my life. It is bad enough when his dreams torment him in the night. Must they invade his waking thoughts, as well? _

Grief nearly consumed me when I thought of him having to endure one of these spells alone… as he had done this past winter we had been apart. I don't think I will ever forgive myself for what I put him through. My left fingertips traced light whorls and patterns on the back of his sweat-damp shirt, my right hand nimbly drew its nails through the fine hair at the nape of his neck. All I could think to do was continue to croon softly to him, only dimly aware that I was gently rocking our bodies in a peaceful, soothing rhythm.

I closed my eyes, sighing, when I felt him begin to relax against me. Loathe as I was to release him, I knew the headache would deepen, and I must prepare to deal with the next phase of my husband's illness.

Taking him by the shoulders, I lightly pressed his shaking body down towards the mattress, turning him so that he ended up on his left side in the middle of the bed.

His eyes opened, shining with exhaustion and fear – wide and dark – in the dim light. At his terror-filled gaze, I gathered my courage and smiled in reassurance, allowing my love for him to pour forth from my eyes, willing it to flow out as a balm to his scarred heart.

"Do not fear, my love," I murmured. "I am here."

I lifted his legs, tucking them in before once more smoothing his hair back from his ashen face. I pressed a gentle kiss to his brow, which burned under my lips as if fevered. His desperate hand caught mine as I went to turn away, and gave a grateful squeeze. His other hand had traveled to his head, pressing hard against his brow. I squeezed back, tears pricking my eyes, concerned at how cold and clammy his hands felt, and how hard they shook.

I crossed once again to the hearth, and took up a soft cloth from the pile. I checked the bowl by the window and, finding it still a little warm, slipped between the window and the curtain, squinting at the sudden brightness of the harsh winter sun. I eased a small pane open to the chilly winter air. On the ledge there had gathered some snow, and I took two or three icy handfuls to add to the water until it was sufficiently cooled. The mint had steeped in the water, and so I discarded the leaves out the window before closing the pane against the icy draft.

Emerging from the velvet, I was even more anxious to see Faramir curled in on himself, both hands now pressed to his aching head, shaking as if from a violent chill and labored breath coming in harsh gasps. I hastened to him, setting the mint-water on the side table near the still-steaming bowl of athelas. Though the sweet fragrance, quiet darkness of the chamber, and the soft bed all helped, I knew that there was still a task or two more to accomplish before my husband would find the relief he desperately sought.

Removing my own slippers, I slowly eased myself down beside him, striving to maneuver our bodies without jarring the bed and causing him further distress. I leaned my shoulders against the headboard, a pillow behind my neck and my poor husband's pounding head on his own pillow beside me. I reached for the soft cloth, dipping it in the cool water and thoroughly wringing it out before gently wiping the sweat from his feverish brow. His face had turned gray, his neck beginning to acquire a flush. I wiped the cool cloth across his heated skin, his tremors beginning to subside into an occasional violent shiver, though his breath still labored. The one other time it was this bad, I sat beside him, bathing his face and threading my fingers through his dark hair until the herbs took effect, and he fell into an exhausted sleep. I had stayed all night watching over him and chasing the ensuing nightmares away. It seemed to bring him swifter ease, and so I hoped it would again.

But this time, he did something he had not done before. He took a deep, shuddering breath - as if gathering his strength - and raised himself up on his elbow beside me. Moving his body to lie along the length of mine, he wrapped his arms about my waist and settled his head against my breast. Thus situated, he released that breath in an unreserved sigh of relief, his arms tightening briefly about me before sinking down. He continued to tremble ever so slightly, and so I tugged the velvet quilt up and tucked it under his chin. I then folded the damp cloth, laying it over his brow and smelling the subtle coolness of the mint wafting in the air. I lay still, barely daring to breathe lest I disturb his tenuous peace, and in a short time his breath evened, telling me he had given in to his exhaustion.

The door creaked softly, and Haleth – the woman I had brought with me from Ithilien – entered with a crock of stew. She was the only one of the household servants allowed into our bedchamber. Now a widow, her late husband had also been war-fettered, and she knew well how to keep her silence. Nodding to me, she padded noiselessly to the fire and laid the crock on the hearth to keep warm. It would be waiting when the Lord Steward awoke. Bowing, she took her leave.

My hand rose to my husband's silken hair, lightly drawing my nails across his scalp and threading the soft strands through my fingers. In his sleep, he gave a sigh, and seemed to grow heavier against me. I myself sighed in return, knowing that the tea had finally begun its healing work.

My thoughts strayed to the children. They were too young as yet to understand my husband's affliction, and so would be looking for us at suppertime. Haleth would take them to hand, feeding them their dinner and playing games with them afterward. Her own babe had died soon after it was born, and her husband had not lived long enough to provide a second. It lifted her heart to spend time with Elboron and Morwen, and so I was not worried for their care.

I relaxed into the soft pillows, leaning my head back and reveling in the feel of his warm arms around me, his head pillowed on my breast…

…and sometime after, I fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Brilliancy – part 2

By skaia7

_Okay, so I enjoy writing stories where strong, handsome men suffer illness and must be cared for by strong, beautiful women. Faramir doesn't mind… I mean, he probably does mind, but I didn't start it. Altariel did! (points) Probably somebody started it before she did, so the whole thing is probably moot…_

_Anyway. Faramir's POV._

xxxx

I was exhausted.

The Council meeting had gone all night without pause. Lords shouted ceaselessly at each other… the King's hoarse words as he sought to bring them under control… my own glazed eyes fixed upon the maps strewn across the table that had been the source of the malcontent… The Easterlings were not satisfied with the treaty we had proposed over the summer, and were once again threatening our borders. This had driven the king to march once before, and I had no doubt he would do it again, if they posed sufficient threat.

_Where does it end? Will we continue this ceaseless chain of war and death until the end of time? Is there no hope for lasting peace?_

Finally, I could take no more. I had excused myself, the King nodding briefly at my departure before turning back to his nobles' arguments. Both he and my uncle had urged me to leave the meeting at midnight, but I had stubbornly refused, thinking that if I held out just an hour or two more we could come to some kind of agreement.

I think they were both surprised at how long I had lasted. The hours passed, each one more merciless than the next, and the growing pressure behind my eyes told me that I would pay sorely for my folly. So I had escaped the close walls of the Council chamber, retreating first to that familiar passageway where I have always been wont to gather myself.

Leaning against the wall, I slid slowly to the floor. I closed my burning eyes. Arms on my raised knees, head tilted back to rest against the hard stones, I could not help issuing a weary sigh.

"Faramir?"

I cracked open one eye. My uncle knelt next to me, concern lining his grizzled features. I batted away a hand as he went to place it on what I am sure was my bloodless cheek.

"I am well." My clipped if rasping reply to his unspoken question. "I simply need to rest."

His eyes raked over me, and I am sure what he saw did not ease his distress. I gave another haggard sigh, then dropped my chin to him in what has become my expression of firm resolve. "Uncle, please. Give your Steward a little credit."

His rumbling response, "The Lord Steward's judgment is always beyond reproach. My nephew's, however, is another matter entirely." His mouth was set in a grim line, but his eyes had a spark that revealed smug amusement. He paused, softening. "Son, tell me you are going home."

I did not miss the term of endearment, but chose instead to close my eyes again, feeling the hammer strokes behind my eyes, the bone-deep weariness that leeched away all strength.

"Uncle," I breathed, "I am going home."

He grasped my arm and helped me to stand, not breaking his hold until I could remain upright without the assistance of the stone wall. I was afraid he would insist on accompanying me to ensure I arrived safely, but thankfully he did not. A quick glance over his shoulder told me why: my bodyguard hovered a short distance away, and shame stabbed my heart. We both nodded our farewell, with him adding both a reassurance and a gentle admonishment: "I will send word if there is any change. Please, Faramir," his eyes were kind. "Do not return until you are sufficiently recovered." He put a hand on my shoulder as I made to move past him, "No matter how long it takes."

I paused long enough to issue a reluctant nod, which only served to exacerbate the pain in my head. Wincing, I raised a hand to pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger, and then made my way out into the city.

My man and I kept to darkened alleys, not wishing to run into any of the exuberant citizens while battling weariness and a splitting headache. I normally return their joyful greetings, even if my naturally shy nature balks at the inevitable encounters when I venture out into the city. But today, I knew I would not have the strength.

These alleys were in an area of the city that we had not yet fully repaired since the Ring War, and unfortunately I had not reckoned the toll seeing them would take on me in my already weakened state. After turning down the third passage, tripping over yet another piece of blackened rubble, my heart was pounding, my mind swirling with a maelstrom of images. Screams of the Nazgul, the thunder of hoofbeats, clangs of sword upon shield, death cries of my men… then shifting to the crackle of flames, the dark clouds of smoke, my father's dark eyes, incensed at yet another failure on the part of his second son…

My bodyguard stepped closer, offering his strong arm when my steps faltered. Mercifully, I did not run into anyone in those relentless pathways, and nearly collapsed with relief upon reaching the new grand entrance to our house. I shrugged off his support once inside, mumbling some sort of dismissal before steering - almost blindly - for the stairs that led to our quiet chamber. I barely remember how I got there, so desperate was I to cling to any semblance of control. I only dimly realized when Eowyn removed my boots and tunic, for by this point the ache in my head had become full blown agony, my limbs shaking with strain.

I felt the rim of a cup pressed to my lips, and drank the bitter liquid gratefully. It was stronger than the draught we had in Ithilien; my wife, it seemed, had become more adept at preparing the concoction. Inwardly I grimaced, knowing that she must have been in conference with the healers since our return to Minas Tirith. I knew there was no outward cause for alarm - she was nothing if not discreet; between her loving care and the King's open support I had no fear of the public thinking their Steward unfit for his position.  
The Steward himself, however, was currently experiencing strong misgivings.

I hated that my wife must tend me in the throes of my affliction; I hated that I had abandoned my King to the bickering lords. My uncle was there, of course, as was my cousin…

_But it is not their responsibility!_ _It is mine! _ I seethed, swept in a dark wave of shame. My father's harsh words echoed in every corner of my mind, reminding me of our line, our duty, my incompetence, my inevitable failure…

They were all still in Council, and here I was, my body torn between my frozen limbs and my burning brow, fighting desperately to push the retreat safely back behind the veil of memory. _How many indignities can a Man bear? _I wondered, dejected._ How much more must his soul withstand before it shatters into a thousand worthless pieces?_

Then I felt my wife's cool, strong arms steal about me, a loving fortress that shielded me from the worst of the figments. The clean scent of athelas and her own sweet perfume began to break through the evil embodiment of my fears, and I began to come back to myself.

I love my wife. I love her deeply, truly, with every fiber that encompasses my being. I will never forgive myself for what she endured those terrible months with my coldness. My ignorance. My damnable pride. There are days still I awake expecting to see the bed empty, as if I had only dreamed that she and the children returned to me. Those days I fight not to weep at the sight of her lovely golden hair strewn upon my pillow, her snowy shoulders glowing in the early morning light.

It is more than I deserve.

My head found its way to her shoulder, and I reveled in the peace found within the loving circle of her arms. My body, however, continued to betray me. I could not seem to stop shivering, my lungs burning as I gasped for breath, my heart beating like a bird in its cage.

_How I hate this feeling! Such wretchedness! Such weariness!…_

In the midst of my churning thoughts, something Eowyn had said once came back to me, when she was so ill expecting our first child, Elboron…

"_How I despise myself for being this weak - and I loathe it! To be constantly so ill and so unsteady! I long to be well again!"_

It came to me that the Valar might be revenging themselves upon me for the indignities of child-bearing women everywhere.

I could have laughed, had the hurt not been so fierce. Instead, I believe I wept.

I felt her arms disappear, and experienced a momentary surge of panic as I sank down onto the bed. _Surely I did not dream that she held me… _The specters surged forth, eager to return…

My eyes flew open, seeking her in the dim firelight. Instantly her sweet voice called softly, "Do not fear, my love, I am here. You are not alone," and she pressed a soft kiss to my brow.

I think I reached out to her. I cannot be certain, for my head was pounding, red waves washing over my vision with each pulse of my heart. I pressed a shaky fist to my brow, as if simply the force of my will could compel the pain to vanish. An icy breeze blew into the room, and I curled in on myself, shivering for warmth.

I felt the mattress shift as she settled down beside me. Something cool, smelling sweetly of mint, floated across my face and chased away the sweat of my fever. The air in our chamber felt fresher, more wholesome, and I suspected the king had generously provided something from his garden to that effect. Our shared body heat and the warm coverlet began to reduce the fierceness of the chills. But my mind was still unsteady, and I could not help but seek again the shelter of her arms. Gathering my strength, I lifted my body until I could lie alongside her, curling around her, resting my head on her breast with an unreserved sigh.

To those who have not experienced such love, there are no words to describe the sway she has over my heart. There was a time I believed that words had the power to overcome any deficiency, and it was a lack of words that was almost our undoing. But from the very first moment I laid eyes on her - on a serene garden path in the midst of the most terrifying war our world has ever known, when it seemed each beat of our hearts might be the last - in her beauty and her sorrow lay such salvation! I knew then no eloquence afforded me would be sufficient, despite my long years of study.

Her soft body yielded beneath my touch, her arms coming to enfold me once more. Peace filled me, like a long drink from a crisp stream fills one desperately parched. I drank her in, savoring the softness of her skin, the healing beat of her heart, the slow whisper of her breath…

My wits began to wander, all thought becoming vague. I know the tea deserved some small credit, but to my mind a much larger portion belonged to my devoted wife. Not for the first time, I vowed to do all in my power to restore her faith in me, and to endeavor to merit the selfless care she has provided – both to my own health and to the greater task of the restoration of Gondor - each day since our reunion.

Her long fingers began to comb through my hair, and I was utterly lost. Before her second stroke, I had slipped quickly into a deep and restful sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Brilliancy – part 3

By skaia7

_Wow. I actually finished one! I can't believe it. So, now is the time to tell me if it was worth the hours and hours I spent working on it. Thanks so much for those of you who review! You are the reason we write!_

xxxx

I awoke a short while later when Haleth gently touched my shoulder. The children were to be put to bed, she whispered softly, and would not be quieted until they had seen their mother.

I ever-so-slowly eased myself from Faramir's embrace, careful not to wake him. After so many years with the Rangers, it is a testament to how complete his exhaustion that he did not stir when I left. Most mornings he is awake long before I, getting an early start in his study or simply sitting quietly watching myself or the children sleep.

I had asked him once – when first we were married - why he always woke so early.

"I have never been one to lie abed when there was daylight by which to labor," he had replied, his voice low, grey eyes soft as he lay beside me in our bed. "And lately I have discovered that watching my lovely wife is a much better pursuit." He had leaned in to kiss my brow, murmuring, "I cannot seem to get enough."

I can guess what he did not say: that Denethor would never have allowed one of his sons to lie in sloth, that if he had been caught still asleep his father's wrath would have been swift and terrible. Once more, my heart ached for the boy he had been, for the wounded man he had become…

I slid a pillow to take the place of me under his head and smoothed his dark hair back from his cheek. His skin felt cool 'neath my touch, the lines of worry having disappeared in the peace of his rest. He looked almost boyish in sleep, and I could not help the warm smile that came as I gazed upon the man I loved.

_How close we had come!_ I shuddered, thinking back over the past two years. _How close we had come to ruin!_ We had been given a precious gift, not once, but twice…

We would not be so careless with it again.

Haleth's hand upon my arm brought me back to myself, and I followed her noiselessly from the room. We entered the chamber our children shared, Morwen running to meet me, her winter nightdress fluttering around her legs. I picked her up and held her close, breathing in the clean scent of her hair. Elboron was already in bed, his grave eyes watching us shrewdly. For all the pride in my motherly influence on my children, there were times when something of them gleamed as unmistakably their father's. Though I had not thought it possible, when I saw these inherited charms, I loved them all the more. They and their adoring father.

Elboron was as spirited as I, and yet with a serious bent that was all Faramir. Morwen was by far the more serene child, content to sit and keenly observe as her father was wont to do, but with a happiness about her that I recognized from my own childhood. In these last few months, our family had grown close in such a way as I had once despaired would never be possible. Elboron had nearly forgotten our separation, and of course Morwen was much too young to know it had occurred. I began to sing softly, a lullaby of Rohan, as my daughter laid her head on my shoulder and I rocked her gently.

_Would we ever tell them?_ I wondered. _What possible purpose would it serve for them to know how grievously we each wronged the other - whom we claimed to love - and how hard we fought to tear our precious family in two? _I closed my eyes._ Perhaps when they are older, when it might serve them to know how important it is to talk… to listen…_

I laid Morwen down in her cradle, her eyes drooping. Still crooning softly, I went over to kiss my son, letting his soft, dark hair slip through my fingers. _So like his father's…_ Soon, he began to drift off as well, and I slipped out quietly, leaving Haleth in her chair by the fire mending a tear in one of Elboron's breeches.

Out in the hall, I leaned against a window, staring out at the dark wintry night. The sky was clear, the moon full and crisp and bright, wisps of clouds barely brushing its round edge. It reminded me of a night we had spent in Edoras, after we were troth-plighted. The moon had been full, and we had walked the length and breadth of the village hand in hand, talking quietly. He had kissed me that night, sweet and stolen, under the blossom-laden branches. It was the first time we had kissed since that morning on the ramparts of the Houses of Healing, when he had asked for my hand. I had burned with a heat unlike any I had known, and only his gallantry had kept us from going any further than that most chaste of kisses.

Turning, I crept slowly back to our chamber, where I could admire both the moon and my sleeping husband.

The cold light glinted softly on his raven hair, his bare arms spread across the white sheets. I smiled, leaning against the wall, and simply watched him sleep. It was nice, for a change – to watch him instead of waking to find him watching me. He looked so at peace.

As if he sensed it, his eyes fluttered open, finding me in the moonlight. His heavy lids slipped closed again for the briefest of moments, then parted to me once more. My husband did not speak, but stretched his hand, palm up, out to me. I smiled and went to him, clasping his calloused hand in one of my own, and allowed him to draw me down to the bed.

He pulled me close, wrapping one arm around me, and buried his face in the dark hollow between my hair and my neck. Our hands were still clasped between our breasts, and I could feel both our hearts beating where our hands bridged our bodies.   
Faramir issued a languid sigh, his entire body relaxing with its release. He gently kissed my neck, once, then stilled. I could not help the shiver that coursed through me at his kiss – he has ever known that sensitive spot! Then, I allowed my breathing to match his own, and soon began to feel the fey tug of slumber, my dreams beckoning…

"…thank you…" I heard his low murmur, so soft I thought for a moment I only imagined it. Then, he spoke once more, "…for loving me… healing me…"

I turned my head to lay a soft kiss on his brow, squeezing his hand.

And then we were both asleep.

_Finis._


End file.
